Diary of a Sven
by Jukebox Lovechild
Summary: Excerpts from the diary of Sweden's favourite slightly mad, nationality-confused son. -Starts around the time of ATFFS-
1. Fit Birds and Orangutans

**DIARY OF A SVEN  
**

**Chapter One - Of Fit Birds and Orang-utangs**

-JukeboxLovechild

_These are excerpts from Sven's diary, translated from the original Swedish/madperson into English, for your benefit. Sven is staying in England with family friends, the Robinsons, and going to Foxwood (in the year above the Barmy Army). James is the Robinsons' son, and not Gee's incestuous cousin._

_The Gee Nicks books? I own them not. Sadly. Nor do I own Sven (again, sadly), Rosie, or any of the other characters you recognise in here. I do own the Robinsons, which is some consolation. Apologies to the Swedish, I'm sure you're all actually quite sane._

_I hope you enjoy this, and find it somewhat amusing(ish)._

_

* * *

_

**Tuesday 1****st**** December**

**9:00 pm**

Third week in England. It's not bad here, although there is a distinct lack of reindeer. But on the upside, they do have groovy red phoneboxes.

**Wednesday 2****nd**** December**

**5:00 pm**

Saw a "fit bird", as they say here in England. Turns out that this means a "good-looking girl", and not a muscular sparrow like I first thought. I saw her coming down the road when I was skipping in the front garden this afternoon. She went into the house next door.

**5:15 pm**

Wandered into the kitchen, where James was leaning on the bench, eating a sandwich. Told him that the bird next-door was fit. He agreed, but warned me that she was also "a bit bonkers". I asked him, in what way, and he just shrugged and went back to his sandwich.

**5:30 pm**

She seemed perfectly normal when I saw her. She was doing a perfectly normal orangutan impression (quite accurate, too, and very attractive), lolloping along with her arms trailing on the ground perfectly normally, and scratching under her arms in a perfectly normal fashion. Maybe it is James that is a bit bonkers.

**Friday 4****th**** December**

**6:00 pm**

Found out from James that her name is Rosie. Rosie Mees.

I wonder if she goes for tall flare-clad Swedes?

**A bit later**

Who wouldn't?

**Monday 7****th**** December**

**4:30 pm**

Walking down our street on the way home from Foxwood and the fit-bird-next-door (Rosie) came and spoke to me. I had no idea what she was saying, but didn't want to seem like a fool, so just nodded and went "oh jah, oh jah". She pointed at me, then at herself, and did a little dance. Huh? Still, I love a good dance, so I joined in.

**4:45 pm**

She said something about a Stiff Dylan.

**4:48 pm**

Went and found James and asked him what in the name of Thor's drinking horn a Stiff Dylan was. Apparently it's a local band, or something. They're performing this Saturday at some Christmas dance thing.

James said, "You're well in, mate."

**4:50 pm**

What?

**5:00 pm**

Ohhhhh, I get it.

**5:02 pm**

Doing a little jig of celebration.

**Saturday 12****th**** December**

**6:00 pm**

Getting ready for the dance. Going with a Christmassy theme. Red flares, with tinsel around the hem. I haven't been this nervous since I auditioned for Billy Elliott.

**6:01 pm**

Still can't believe they turned me down.

**Sunday 13****th**** December**

**1:00 am**

Excellent night! Rosie looked great. We met up with some friends of hers and went with them. When we got there, there was some guy who looked a bit like that singer from the Rolling Stones and seemed to think that he owned the dance floor. My competitive-reindeer spirit got the better of me. I pulled out a traditional Nordic routine which stopped him in his tracks, and in an inspired bit of ingenuity, lifted Rosie up and spun her around my head. Her friends had gone off by this time, which was a shame, because Nordic dances are better in a group, but we made do.

After a bit, the band stopped playing. Rolling Stones boy didn't seem to like that. He and his gang jumped on the stage and started to push the band around, and then some of the band's friends started to push back. At first I thought it was part of the entertainment, or some English dance ritual, but then all of the girls in the hall were screaming and people were running everywhere. It was chaos. Kind of like at the Beer Hall at home, when everyone's had a bit too much mead and get sick of singing old Viking ballads and start breaking gourds over each other's heads and tipping vats over.

I started to get into the swing of things, and grabbed the two boys nearest to me and threw them out a window. Rosie's friends disappeared in the melee, and the next thing I knew, Rosie was grabbing me by the hand and leading me out a back way. As we went off down the street, we heard sirens wailing behind us and blue and red lights flashing everywhere. You've got to hand it to the English, they know how to put on a show.

**5:30 pm**

Went next door and gave Rosie a bit of holly from the Robinsons' Christmas tree, which is what would-be suitors do in Sweden when trying to woo a lovely young reindeer-ess. I think she appreciated it.

**Friday 25****th**** December**

**1:00 pm**

Christmas! Fashioned a lovely crown out of tinsel. Made one for Rosie, too. I'll take it over to hers later.

**Saturday 15****th**** April**

**3:25 pm**

Ho hum, what is a lively young Swedish lad to do on such an afternoon?

**4:00 pm**

Been customising some flares. I think that sequins are a good look for me. I'm getting a new pair soon. They're musical. You press a button and they play Jingle Bells.

**4:15 pm**

Practising my moves. You know, compared to the rest of the house, my room is quite small. There's not enough space to swing a reindeer. How am I supposed to do the splits in such limited space?

**4:17 pm**

Going out to the kitchen to dance free and wild.

**4:18 pm**

Boogied my way down the hall. Tripped over the carpet and bashed my head on the door, but I like to think that it added a little something to my routine. Aside from pain.

**4:25 pm**

Dancing in the kitchen. I can see my reflection in the window. Can't believe they turned me down for Billy Eliott. They said I was a good dancer, but "too tall, and too mad". Pfft. That's been said about all of the great artistes of history.

**4:40 pm**

The maid walked in just as I was doing shimmy shoulders, shimmy shoulders, and giving the come-hither finger-beckon to a chair. She looked a bit surprised, and dropped her mop. What's the matter? Hasn't she ever seen a six-foot-four blonde Swedish dance prodigy in tye-dyed flares breaking it down in the kitchen before?

**4:41 pm**

Picked up the mop and danced with it for a bit. As far as partners go, it's got nothing on Rosie, but it'll do for now. Swung it around me head with a few cries of "oh ja, hit it!" (smashed the lightbulb, but I thought the falling glass looked pretty), and then for the finale, straddled and snogged it senseless (well, even more senseless than it already was, being a mop). Again, not as good as Rosie, but passable.

Finally, I took a bow, and gave the mop back to the maid. She still looked a bit stunned, so I gave her a reassuring kiss full on the mouth, and went back to my room.

**Saturday 5****th**** June**

**3:00 am**

Just got home from a pyjama party at Georgia's house. Spent basically the entire time snogging Rosie. Was a little miffed to find out we missed out on watching _Grease_ with the others (_Hand Jive _is my favourite) but Rosie is an excellent snogger, so not too miffed.

* * *


	2. Dancing With Trousers Ablaze

**DIARY OF A SVEN  
**

**Chapter Two – Tar Barrels and Shagpile Rugs**

-JukeboxLovechild

_Excerpts from Sven's diary, translated from the original Swedish/madperson into English, for your benefit. Sven is staying in England with family friends, the Robinsons, and going to Foxwood (in the year above the Barmy Army). James is the Robinsons' son, and not Gee's incestuous cousin._

_

* * *

_

**Friday 23****rd**** July**

**5:00 pm**

Went with the Ace Gang to their candlelight vigil underneath Georgia's window last night. I'd made a little paper hat especially for the occaision, which is what we do in Sweden when someone goes to New Zealand to raise elks. We sang, at least until the neighbours' dogs started yelping and whimpering, and then they complained about the noise (the neighbours, not the dogs). Then Jas said "I'm going to stay silently here all night," but G was beginning to look a little teary-eyed, so I said "Chips now." And we went off and had chips.

**A moment later**

We sang a song in French that the Gang are currently learning at school. We had to do it last year. _'Mon Merle a Perdu une Plume'_.

**A moment later**

'My Blackbird Has Lost a Feather'. Which is fair enough, but why don't they teach us something practical? Something we can actually use if ever we go to France?

**A moment later**

Like 'My Reindeer's Coat is Malting'.

**A moment later**

Or 'Somebody Fetch a Fire Extinguisher, My Light-Up Flares Have Caught Alight'.

**A moment later**

I wonder if I can use that in a routine? Dance with my trousers ablaze?

**6:15 pm**

Set the smoke alarm in the kitchen off, burned one of Mrs Robinson's chaircovers and ruined a perfectly good pair of flares. Hmm. It needs work.

**Friday 6****th**** August**

Saw Rosie earlier. Her fringe was all singed and short. I wonder if she accidentally burnt it in Valborgsmassoafton (ceremonial Viking fire)? They can be pretty dangerous. Thor, thinking about that very nearly makes me homesick. I kind of miss dressing up in furs and horns and helmuts, carrying burning torches through the streets, and setting fire to replica longboats…

**Saturday 11****th**** September**

**9:00 pm**

Had tea with Rosie and parents at hers. I think it went quite well.

**Wednesday 15****th**** September**

**8:15 pm**

Rosie and I had a falling out. I'm not sure what we're fighting about, but I think it has to do with Saturday.

**8.20 pm**

Did I do something wrong?

**8:30 pm**

I thought I conducted myself with much grace and aplomb. And I had to go through half of London before I found a suitable tar barrel to present them with, as is Norse tradition.

**8:35 pm**

Not to mention finding actual tar.

**8:37 pm**

Although maybe I should have exercised more care when leaping up from the couch to start dancing, and not spilt half of it on their shagpile rug.

**8:45 pm**

I must win Rosie back.

**Thursday 16****th**** September**

**5:10 pm**

Ah, it all becomes clear(ish)! Went next door and gave them the money to get the rug drycleaned. Mr and Mrs Mees, I thought, were quite pleased and touched, but Rosie still seemed a bit stand-offish. She said that she wasn't mad about the tar, but what I'd said to her parents.

**5:22 pm**

Thinking about what I said.

**5:25 pm**

There's nothing offensive about "It is _gut_ to meet you, you wild _und_ groovy hepcat _und_ chickie". Is there?

**5:45 pm**

Went through the evening's events with James. He seems to think it might have been the "Thank you for your daughter, she is, how you say? Jah... a great snog," that did it.

I told him, I don't understand, it's a compliment, but he said it was best to avoid all snogging talk when it came to meeting parents. Also, he mentioned, Rosie's folks might have the impression that I'm not entirely normal.

"That," he said wisely, "is what happens when you learn your English from watching Austin Powers."

**5:50 pm**

He's probably right.

**5:52 pm**

I'm going to show Rosie how sorry I am. I will prove my love the only way I know how.

**5:55 pm**

Knitting her a colourful nose-wamer. If this doesn't work, I might need a quick visit to the fishmarket. And some ice.

**Saturday 18****th**** December**

**12.00 pm**

No, she forgave me, and all is right with the world.

**1:00 pm**

I still might visit the fishmarket anyway, just for a few herrings for personal use.

**Sunday 26****th**** December**

**8:30 pm**

Was over at Rosies's easlier. Her parents seem to have gotten over the 'your daughter is a great snog' incident. Especially since I knitted them nose-warmers to match the one I made for RoRo. In fact, I think they look upon me quite favourably now.

**8:35 pm**

At least, Rosie's dad has stopped referring to me as 'that Swiss lunatic'. Which I took much offense to.

**8:37 pm**

I'm Swedish.

**Wednesday 29****th**** September**

**5:30 pm**

Going to see The Stiff Dylans at some club tonight. Rosie and I made up a special dance for the occaision. It's called 'the phone box'. It involves being in a actual phone box, shuffling around, lots of yelling, a little tap dancing for good measure, and then for the finale: pretending to strangle yourself with the phone cord.

It's quite an achievement; Odin himself would be proud. We called Rosie's friends, Georgia and Jas, at Jas's house and gave them a preview. I think that they were suitably impressed.

**Thursday 30****th**** September**

**3:30 am**

We went back home after that, and got ready. I wore my good silver flares to commemmorate the launch of 'the phone box' on the world.

We found Georgia and Jas in the queue outside and joined them. I was doing some warm up twists and shouts and we were towards the front of the line when Georgia quietly said to Rosie, Jas and I, "Be really cool."

Sensing that we needed a stealthy, inconspicuous approach to get in the door, I picked her up in one arm, ushered Rosie and Jas with the other, and said to the bouncers "Gut evening, I have the bird in the hand and one in the bushes, thank you!" They took a bit of a step back, and glanced at one another - amazed by our maturity and coolness, I suppose.

The club was swinging. Rosie and I showed off 'the phone box'. It was a wild success, even if we didn't actually have a phone box to dance in. Georgia and Jas joined us after a bit, followed by some bloke named Dave the Laugh. We did some very groovy boogying, even if I do say so myself.

**Friday 8****th**** October**

**8.30 pm**

Rosie and I have just been practising our Surprised! expressions. Apparently, our new mission in life is to follow Georgia and Dave the Laugh around whenever they go out together, 'accidentally' run in to them and then be shocked to see them, even though we were following them in the first place. I'm not entirely sure why, but we snog a lot, and I'm allowed to wear combat flares, big sunglasses, a fake nose and a moustache, so I don't mind.

**Sunday 10th October**

**11.00 am**

Off to the cinemas with Rosie to snog, and be surprised. And perhaps to do some spontaneous Cassock dancing, if the mood takes us. Who knows?

* * *

_There you have it - It's Okay, I'm Wearing Really Big Knickers, from Sven's pov. Cheers for reading! Knocked Out By My Nunga-Nungas will be up nearly as soon as I can get a copy! Pip pip._


End file.
